


The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get

by jnic84



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Criminal Masterminds, F/M, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8252707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jnic84/pseuds/jnic84
Summary: You’ve been drawn into a game you’re not sure you can win.





	1. Chapter One

Title: The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get  
Pairing: Edward Nygma/The Riddler x Reader  
Fandom: Gotham, spoilers for 3x03  
Summary: You’ve been drawn into a game you’re not sure you can win.

 

 

Part One:

 

Your first day working at Arkham Asylum had certainly left an impression.

Psychiatry was hardly a boring profession and you had encountered many people and places during your career. But Arkham already appeared to be a different beast entirely. 

A guard followed you closely from the relatively quiet lobby where you signed in and got your new identification badge, through the gate and towards a cacophony of noise. The shouting and screaming caught you slightly off guard. 

You had worked in other institutions and had come prepared to deal with a certain level of disruption and even violence, but the anger in this building was palpable. You were escorted past the recreation area, where it looked like a near riot was taking place. A large man was rampaging across the room, two orderlies hanging off him as he attempted to chase another inmate. In the corner of the room, outside of the melee, you noticed a man who appeared more annoyed than afraid. 

He must have felt your gaze, because suddenly his eyes met yours. His stare was intense, even behind his glasses. He had an almost boyish look about him, but you knew not to underestimate him. Normal people didn’t end up in Arkham. Crazy came in any number of shapes and sizes. 

Your escort, noticing your distraction, put a guiding hand on your arm and led you past the scene. After a few twists and turns you ended up at your office. Once he saw that you had your keys, your protector left you to your business.

Unlocking the door, you found yourself taking in the rather drab and unwelcoming interior. You hadn’t expected much, considering the condition Arkham had been in when Hugo Strange was finally apprehended. 

Resting your briefcase against the filing cabinet, you nearly cringed at the mountain of paperwork atop your desk. It would take you weeks, even months to go through all those files. 

A rapid knock on your door caused you to spin around in surprise. The harried face of your boss greeted you.

“Oh thank goodness you’ve arrived,” his relief was practically tangible. “I’ve been struggling to make sense of everything here and the paperwork is an absolute nightmare.”

“Dr. Quimby,” you offered your hand to the interim warden of Arkham, and he shook it haphazardly. “It’s a pleasure. I understand that things at the moment are a bit…overwhelming. I’m here to help any way I can.”

“Patient files are on your desk,” Charles Quimby gestured wildly towards the Mount Everest of papers on your desk. “Review them and start meeting with patients as soon as you can. We need to determine which patients should be separated from others, and what kind of therapy they might require.” 

He leant forward, speaking in confidence, “Whatever Dr. Strange did to keep them passive is no longer working. I’m doing all that I can to make sure they don’t all kill each other!”

“I’ll get right to work then,” you promised. He smiled gratefully. An alarm sounded and you spotted a flashing red light going off in the corner of your office. His smile died. 

“I have to go,” he stammered. “Uh, lock the door behind me,” he advised, before speed walking down the hall. You closed your office door, turning the deadbolt as he had suggested.

As you took a seat at your desk, you wondered what you had got yourself into.

 

 

Two weeks into your employment, you finally began to meet with patients for what Dr. Quimby referred to as an ‘abridged psychiatric assessment’. You were still woefully behind on paperwork and analyzing patient files, but Quimby was losing his composure on the daily and he was desperate to see progress of any kind.

There was a quick knock at your door, and when you gave the okay, two orderlies brought in your first patient. 

You chose him specifically because he intrigued you. Professional curiosity had gotten the best you. 

He looked much the same as the first time you saw him, hovering silently in a room full of chaos. Up close you could see his eyes were tired and bloodshot, and his hair was in disarray. Opening his file, you looked upon an earlier picture of him before he was committed. His hair had been neatly combed and brushed aside, his manner of dress was precise, and his eyes held a glimmer of something. A mix of arrogance and insecurity that you found unusual. 

“Mr. Nygma,” you smiled politely, waving a hand towards the empty chair in front of you, “please have a seat.”

The two orderlies made to hover behind him as he took his seat and you frowned. “I’m sorry, doctor-patient confidentiality. Can you wait outside?” They hesitated, sharing a nervous glance. You appreciated their concern, but you could take care of yourself. “I assure you I’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly they walked into the hall, closing the door behind them.

“I’ve been reading your file, Mr. Nygma. It’s quite impressive,” you stated, sitting back in your chair. His eyes followed your every move but he gave away little of what he was thinking. “But I find myself wondering what caused you to stop solving crimes and instead commit them?”

“If you read my file,” he countered with a tight smile, “then you should already know why.”

“The surface reasons, yes,” you acknowledged with a tilt of your head. “No one respected you, girl trouble, ego. But that’s a pretty common story, and you don’t strike me as average.”

“Oh, I’m anything but,” he grinned boastfully. 

“You like games, right?” you mused and he bowed his head in agreement. “Then why don’t we make a deal. Tell me a riddle, and if I get it right you have to tell something true about yourself.”

“Very well,” he leant forward, head in his hands and elbows resting on his knees. “Some will use me, while others will not. Some have remembered, while others have forgot. For profit or gain, I'm used expertly. I can't be picked off the ground or tossed into the sea. Only gained from patience and time, can you unravel my rhyme? What am I?”

You let your brain ponder for a moment before letting a pleased smirk cross your face. 

“Knowledge,” you replied. Edward leaned back in his chair with a wide grin.

“Yes!” he said gleefully. “But I’m afraid that’s only part of our game. I’ve had so little mental stimuli in this stupid place. It’s your turn to tell me a riddle, Doctor.”

“I suppose I’ll play, just this once,” you warned, not eager to set a precedence. “Hmmm… When you need me, you must find me. When you find me, you no longer need me. I am given countless times a day. Be it morning, noon, or night. What am I?”

He looked positively elated at your little game of wordplay. “An answer!” he declared proudly. 

“Correct,” you sat up in your chair. “And now it is time for you to give me some answers, Mr. Nygma.”

“Call me Ed,” he chortled, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

“Ed,” you said cautiously. “You’re very clever. I know people can feel threatened by that. Were people frightened of you, did they treat you unfairly?” 

“People didn’t notice I existed,” he admitted with a sneer. “They can’t fear you when they don’t even think about you. They ignored me. Until they couldn’t,” Ed shrugged. “Until I wouldn’t let them.”

“Did you have no friends?” you asked, jotting notes down as he spoke. 

“One,” he replied with a hint of fondness. “But some people thought he wasn’t a good influence on me. Personally, I think we were birds of a feather.” 

Penguin. 

You read about their strange friendship. From what you could tell, the Penguin wasn’t one to make friends. And Edward Nygma, while desperate for a connection, hardly seemed the type to attract a mob boss’s attention. 

You wished Penguin was here. His mind would undoubtedly be fascinating. But you hardly took the opportunity to study Mr. Nygma lightly. He was a puzzle all on his own. 

“I’m afraid that our first meeting must be brief,” you sighed, writing down a few last notes before dropping your pen and pushing away from your desk. “Dr. Quimby has emphasized speed for these initial meetings. I am merely to assess you and decide which wing to house you in.”

Edward raised a curious brow but remained silent. “I believe you would benefit from the quiet, so I’m placing you in a unit that will be compromised of some of the less—vocal—patients.”

You stood, walking to the door and opening it slightly.

“After I read your file, I was concerned that Arkham would have little that might hold your attention. It’s not much,” you offered, reaching for a thin book on the top of your filing cabinet, “but a puzzle book might make for a pleasant distraction.”

He stood, the orderlies filing in the second he moved, and you merely nodded at them to assure them all was well. You offered the book to Ed and he gave you a toothy grin as he took it gently from your hand. 

“Thank you for the gift,” he preened, and you shook your head slightly. While he was rather intriguing and conversationally he was quite fascinating, you were not his friend. 

“It’s not a gift, Mr. Nygma,” reminding him that your interest was purely professional. “It is merely a little of the mental stimuli you’ve been lacking. Try not to finish them all in one night, Doctor’s orders.”

He bowed his head in agreement, clutching the dollar store puzzle book to his chest. 

“He’s to be placed in hall H,” you turned your attention to the nearest orderly, a man named Joe. “Here are his papers,” you handed him a small stack of papers detailing his new cell location and minor observances. “Give them to Dr. Quimby, if you would?” 

Joe nodded and hooked a hand around Ed’s arm. They started to lead Nygma out of your office, but he hardly needed to be dragged. Unlike his dreary entrance into your office, he walked away from it with something like a skip in his step.

It didn’t take long for the guards to move him to his new cell. His belongings were few. There was a sweater from Oswald, a small notebook he occasionally took to writing in, and now his little book of puzzles.

They were hardly complicated, it would surely take him less than an hour to complete them all. But still, you had succeeded in your mission. He was pleasantly distracted…just not by the book.


	2. Part Two

Part Two:

 

It came as little surprise how much Arkham had failed to improve over the past few weeks.

Dr. Quimby was in over his head and positively drowning in his newfound responsibilities. You tried to take up the slack where you could, but there was only so much you could do. You could hardly just run the asylum for him, nor would you want to. Arkham was a mess you had no desire to clean up.

But still, you had a job to do. 

The patients ranged from demented to drugged. There was a handful you could manage something that resembled a conversation with, but most were either too sedated or too lost in their own minds. It was beginning to feel like your job here was ultimately pointless. Institutions were meant to have structure, but Arkham lacked rules of any kind.

Glancing at the clock, you pursed your lips as you noticed the time. You cleaned off your desk of errant papers and closed all files. Your next patient would be arriving any moment and he was far too curious and observant for his own good.

Edward Nygma was beginning to frustrate you.

There was no doubt that he was a brilliant man, but his tendency to speak in riddles wasn’t limited to long told puzzles one could find the answer to on Google. The man himself was a riddle. He never liked to give you a straight answer. Every statement he made was twisted in someway. While he appeared to enjoy your back and forth, it merely exasperated you.

You couldn’t help a man who refused to be honest with you. 

But that was the problem, you mused as your office door opened and once more an orderly escorted Mr. Nygma inside. Edward Nygma didn’t want help. 

In fact, despite his dreary and irritating surroundings, he was a man at peace with himself. That left you feeling uneasy.

He greeted you with a big grin, which only widened as you nodded for the orderly to leave, and took his seat across from you. His smile always left you feeling torn. He had a boyish charm and you imagined at one time his enthusiastic grin put a smile on many faces. But nowadays, such an eager, impassioned expression appeared inherently sinister to anyone who looked upon it.

“Have you been sleeping well, Mr. Nygma?” you started off slow, taking the time to observe him.

Head cocked to the side, he rolled his eyes. “There’s a draft in my room,” he drawled, “keeps me up at nights. And there’s a spring in my mattress that is poking me in the back whenever I lay down. Other than that, the accommodations are exceedingly comfortable. Give Dr. Quimby my regards.”

“I’ll do that,” you said drolly. 

“And how did you sleep, Doctor?” he inquired, catching you off guard. He noted your tiny jolt of surprise with a smirk. “You have dark circles under your eyes, it appears you have lost some weight, and judging by the number of used coffee filters in your trash, I’d say caffeine is the only thing keeping you awake.”

“This job keeps me very busy,” you replied tonelessly. “I don’t always get a full eight hours of sleep.”

“Is there no one in your life to express concern that you might be overexerting yourself? No ring, so no husband. But not even a boyfriend?” Edward’s feigned alarm raised your hackles slightly. 

“My personal life is of no concern, Mr. Nygma,” you dodged his questions effortlessly. 

“Oh, but I am concerned,” he countered swiftly. “I find it hard to believe that such a beautiful, accomplished woman such as yourself is without a paramour.”

“If you’d like to discuss paramours, Edward,” you returned smoothly, “then why don’t we talk about Miss Kringle.”

“There is nothing to talk about in that regard,” he replied, but you took notice of the tenseness in his limbs and the lack of his ever-present grin. 

“But I disagree,” you pressed on, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your desk. “She was a beautiful woman. Accomplished—”

“She was a record keeper for the GCPD,” he snapped, “hardly a scholar.”

“And yet that didn’t bother you,” you shrugged. “Be honest with yourself, Edward. If she was hardly your intellectual equal, then what drew you to her? Was it simply that she was pretty and she was unattainable?”

His hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly, but the rest of his body relaxed and his expression was cool and calm.

“Kristen Kringle was hardly unattainable,” he challenged. “We were a couple, after all.”

“Very true,” you acknowledged. “Of course, that only happened after you killed her boyfriend and manipulated her into believing she had been abandoned. When people feel vulnerable they are liable to do any number of foolish things.”

“And what foolish things have you done in the name of love?” Edward parried. 

You had spent years perfecting your poker face. Your profession demanded it. No matter what you hear a patient say, you should try not to react. But you always struggled with one particular tell. An involuntary tick of sorts, when you were made to feel uncomfortable. You hoped the subtle twitch of your eye went unnoticed, but from the smug satisfaction on Nygma’s face, he had noticed your discomfort.

“So you have been a fool for love!” he crowed, hands unclenching and demeanor relaxed. “Or…” he considered, eyeing you carefully, “Is it the opposite? Could it be true that the enchanting doctor has never fallen in love?”

“Mr. Nygma—,” you sat up straighter, but he didn’t let you continue your thought.

“Is it true, Doctor?” he mused gleefully. “Have you never been the center of a person’s every thought? It’s all consuming, you know. When a person becomes everything to another. When you have to be together. You have to be.”

“What you’re describing, Edward, isn’t love,” you chastened him, looking him in his now almost maniacal eyes. “It’s obsession.”

“You should strive to such passion,” he smiled longingly. “I could help, you know.”

Certain that you had lost control of this conversation, you stood abruptly and called for the orderly. Nygma’s pleased grin never wavered as the larger man took him by the arm.

“Oh Doctor,” he crooned pleasantly, the orderly pausing in the doorway as he spoke. “The cost of making only the maker knows. Valueless if bought, but sometimes traded. A poor man may give one as easily as a king. When one is broken pain and deceit are assured…”

“Take him to his cell,” you told the orderly, and he moved promptly, escorting a rather delighted Edward Nygma out of your office and down the hall.

You allowed yourself to collapse into your chair, mulling over his parting riddle with a frown. When the answer came to you, you were left with grim apprehension. 

A promise. 

Nygma had made you a promise. But you were not a naïve, young girl. You knew the kind of man your were dealing with. You would not be a pawn in whatever game he thought he was playing.

After your appointment with Mr. Nygma ended, your day only got worse. 

Dr. Quimby was nowhere to be found. According to some of the guards he was busy talking with an influential Gothamite who paid an impromptu visit to the asylum. When you pressed them for more answers, they were reluctant to reveal who this important visitor was, but one of the nurses who spotted him during shift change finally spilled the beans.

The Penguin was paying a visit to Arkham.

You never imagined a former patient would ever voluntarily step foot onto Arkham’s grounds after release. And yet there was Oswald Cobblepot, making the rounds with the asylum’s poor excuse for a Warden. 

Nothing good could come from that meeting.

The day drew to a close and you had isolated yourself in your office. The door had been locked and thankfully no one even knocked once. Your desk clock told you it was well past sunset and with a sigh you began to collect your things for the night.

This had been one of your most stressful days at Arkham yet. You were in of a long bath, dinner, and sleeping pill to send you into a peaceful night’s sleep. 

You didn’t expect there to be any activity at the front gate as you stepped out of the building. But there was Dr. Quimby, holding onto the gate like a lifeline as he spoke with someone just on the other side.

A car pulled up, you couldn’t tell what kind in the darkness, but the headlights illuminated the scene.

Quimby was speaking with Edward Nygma.

And Nygma was on the outside of the gate. He was dressed in civilian clothes, standing outside the perimeter.

You heart beat so loudly in your chest that you couldn’t hear anything above the pulsing. 

Feeling eyes on him, Edward glanced past Quimby, a satisfied smirk crossing his face when he spotted you near the entrance.

Someone called out in the distance, and Edward gave you a jaunty wave before he turned to climb into the waiting vehicle. 

Quimby didn’t wait for the car to leave before he had the front gate locked tight again, and soon he was bumbling in your direction, obviously agitated. 

He tried to skitter past you, but you caught him by the tail of his coat.

“Why?!” you demanded, “Why would even think of releasing Nygma? The man is dangerous!”

“If anyone asks, Edward Nygma is as sane as you or I,” he stammered.

“What have you done?” you hated the near whimper in your voice.

“I did what I had to do!” he barked sharply, before catching himself and muttering an apology. “He—I did what I had to do.”

As he turned and practically ran back to the laughable safety of Arkham, you recalled his unplanned visitor earlier that day.

Nygma and Cobblepot would undoubtedly be a lethal combination. You could only hope that whatever interest the mysterious man had in you would fade in the face of his newfound freedom. 

But he had made a promise, and as you would soon find out, Edward Nygma was a man of his word.


End file.
